


Still Clear

by Verec (Sacer)



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Dubcon if you squint, F/M, Max Caulfield is Bad at Feelings, but also consensual if you squint, can't believe we didn't have this tag yet, canon compliant AU?, featuring ts4 screenshots made just for the occasion because why the hell not, no beta we die like men, starts in medias res ends in medias res, they're so cheesy I love it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:27:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27790738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sacer/pseuds/Verec
Summary: But that single “What if” had taken root in her mind and had refused to leave: what if it was not Chloe that was at the center of all the tears in the time continuum Max had ripped with her own hands to save her, but Jefferson? After all, Chloe was involved in the first place because of Jefferson. Max herself was at Blackwell because of Jefferson. And from the emergence of her powers down to the last possible moment at the lighthouse where she watched the storm crawl toward the town, all her changes in the timeline ultimately led back to him.
Relationships: Maxine "Max" Caulfield/Mark Jefferson
Comments: 11
Kudos: 23
Collections: TFiEsta 2020





	Still Clear

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [TFiEsta](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/TFiEsta) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>  Teacher/student
> 
> For the screenshots, the Blackwell Academy lot was taken from [here](https://dst-sims.tumblr.com/post/616203720091369472/blackwell-academy-and-dorms-sims-4-lot), and Max's hoodie from [here](https://ivkasims.tumblr.com/post/165398766912/max-caulfield-hoodie-conversion-to-sims-4-finally).

* * *

“Seriously though, I could frame any one of you in a dark corner, and capture you in a moment of desperation. And any one of you could do that to me. Isn't that too easy? Too obvious? What if Arbus chose to capture people at the height of their beauty or innocence? She had a brilliant eye, so she could have taken another approach.” 

It was _the_ Monday of October 2013, and Max had listened to this specific lesson too many times not to be completely sick of it. Desperate and constantly running out of time as she was, it had taken around thirteen to fifteen times before she’d really started paying attention out of boredom, and noticed her professor’s peculiar choice of words. 

_The height of beauty or innocence._

What an absolutely arrogant and self-important asshole, so busy stroking his own ego and supposedly brilliant, evil mind that he couldn’t even understand he was talking shit about himself with his whole dark corner examples. Or maybe he knew he was describing his own MO, and still got a kick out of almost confessing in public without anyone actually noticing, except for Max.

“I have to admit, I'm not a big fan of her work. I prefer... Robert Frank.”

“Me too, Victoria. He captured the essence of post-war, beat America. And there was—”

Max rolled her eyes at Victoria's saccharine tone and tuned them out after that, already knowing how the next twenty minutes were going to pan out down to the most insignificant detail. Instead, she looked to the right and stared outside the window, studying the color of the sky past the line of trees blocking her view. 

She might have known by memory every single school lesson that had taken place ever since she had started attending Blackwell Academy a month ago, but that was finally the very day, marked down on her calendar with a big red X, where she would finally see if she’d been right. If, in the middle of all the chaos theory nightmares and butterfly effect mazes, she’d finally landed onto something _real_.

As the sky was still clear of clouds, Max was cautiously hopeful that she’d finally found the key to slip out of the gravitational pull of the natural disaster waiting for them at the end of the week. She would get to know if things were actually on the right track in the afternoon, but before that there was a checkpoint shortly after Jefferson’s lesson, all depending on whether the bastard in the dark suit casually leaning against Hayden’s desk had kept his side of the bargain. 

“Now, Max, since you’re so interested and clearly want to join the conversation, can you please tell us the name of the process that gave birth to the first self-portraits?”

Max startled and turned toward Jefferson, who was now tilting his head slightly to the side, waiting for her reply. The rest of the class quieted down after some snickering, happy to enjoy someone being singled out and possibly caught not knowing the answer. Victoria, in particular, was not even trying to hide her smirk as she was already raising her hand. 

Max locked eyes with Jefferson, hoping her face would convey her silent _‘Really? You’re doing this?’_ before reciting without even thinking, “The Daguerreian Process. Invented by a French painter named Louis Daguerre around 1830.”

 **“** Somebody has been reading as well as zoning out. Nice work, Max,” Jefferson said, as if he was sincerely impressed that Max had been passionately studying for his class when he obviously knew better.

Max didn’t think she would ever truly get his twisted sense of humor, but she still took the smallest pleasure in completely ignoring Victoria as she tried to send a death glare her way. That had yet to get old, no matter how many times Max relived that day.

The bell rang only moments later, and Jefferson reminded the class about the deadline for the photography contest as everyone started gathering their things to get out of the room. Max tapped her fingers against the table, again turning toward the window, and waited for the rest of the class to walk out. 

The clear ring of Victoria's voice soon called for Jefferson, and Max watched as she slowly catwalked toward his desk and then shamelessly bent forward, elbows on the table and ass in the air. That, too, was something Max had seen more times than she was comfortable to remember. 

Jefferson leaned closer to Victoria, which seemed to have the effect of an electric current cursing through the girl, judging by how her entire body slightly undulated in response to his proximity, and Max clenched her jaw, doing her best to ignore the front of the class but still succumbing to the urge to glance their way every few seconds. 

Her annoyance only increased when Jefferson deliberately looked at Max, causing Victoria to interrupt her impassioned monologue over the woes of artists who couldn't do their homework because they were too busy chasing their muse. She clearly hadn't realized that Max hadn't left the class yet, and seemed particularly put off by the fact that she wasn't being given privacy to kiss Jefferson's ass. 

Jefferson tapped Victoria's shoulder to get her attention again, and she instantly turned coquettish as she changed the topic and started talking of the photography contest and the subsequent trip to San Francisco as if it was already confirmed that she would be the winner. 

Max made the effort of keeping her eyes anywhere but on them. Technically, she didn't need to do anything more than wait to verify that the events were changing according to her plan, and she could do it perfectly fine while sitting down. There really was no need to force herself to interact with Jefferson any more than was already necessary. Victoria was even doing her a favor, in a sense. Hearing her voice for an extended period of time was a sure way to get a headache, but she was saving Max the grief of being alone with Jefferson, so she deserved at least a bit of gratitude. 

With that in mind, Max resisted all of two minutes before loudly pushing her chair back from the desk and standing up. The sudden noise interrupted the hushed conversation at the front of the room, and this time Jefferson leaned back and straightened his posture. Victoria frowned at Max but stood where she was, probably waiting for her to finally leave them alone. 

Too bad. 

“Victoria, will you excuse us, I have things to discuss with Max,” Jefferson said as Max walked closer. Victoria started protesting, but Jefferson got her to shut up quickly by touching her shoulder again. "You still have to do your homework this week, even if you're submitting your photo for the competition. And well, no matter who wins, this is just a bump on a bigger road. I don't want anybody to feel excluded from this process. I had my moment in the camera eye, and everybody should have that chance, right? I know you understand me." 

“Oh, totally, I completely understand you Mr. Jefferson.”

Victoria didn’t look like she was particularly understanding anything beside her own delusion that Jefferson had a thing for her, but Max wasn’t in the position of correcting her, even if she wanted to protect her. At this point in time, Victoria wouldn’t believe her anyway. 

“Good. I don't want to keep you from your friends that are surely waiting for you, we can review your portfolio tomorrow.” Jefferson nodded encouragingly, dismissing her. 

Left with no other choice, Victoria smiled sweetly at Jefferson and sent another glare toward Max before going to her desk to pick up her bag and leaving. 

Max watched as the door closed behind her, the brief swell of voices from the corridor filling the room before it plummeted again in silence. 

If they were still on the same timeline, they should have already heard the shot by now, right? Her skin was itching to go to the bathroom to check, but she couldn’t risk being seen by Nathan if he was still going there to have a breakdown, and if things hadn’t changed it would be useless to go there anyway.

“So, did it work?”

Max looked at Jefferson, finding him sitting more comfortably on his desk with his arms crossed over his chest, attention completely turned to her. His posture was imperceptibly more relaxed and open than before, like he wasn’t keeping such a tight hold on his persona anymore, something that wouldn’t be noticeable unless one spent a considerable amount of time studying his body language like Max had. 

Breathing got slightly more difficult, and Max made sure to avoid looking at him directly. 

“You tell me. This was yours to fix.”

“I did my part, but I should remind you that your friend could still decide to come, even without _that_ precedent.”

Shaking her head, Max felt a wave of anxiety try to claw its way up through her throat, suffocating her. "No, s-she has no reason to,” she stuttered, hating how unconvinced she sounded. 

Chloe had no reason to confront Nathan in the bathroom today, not if Jefferson had told the truth and had stopped Nathan from drugging her at the party the week prior. But maybe she would still try to get money from him, and Nathan would still— 

“It’s not like you can’t go and save her if things turn for the worse,” Jefferson casually added, lips pulled into that annoyingly pretentious smile of his. 

The urge to violently wipe it from his face was a constant ache in the back of Max’s head, but she needed to commit to the plan if she wanted a solid chance at fixing things. She was tired, exhausted even, and way past the point where she could afford wasting time on her own grievances. 

“You know why I can’t do that. The more I use my powers, the worse it gets on Friday.” 

That was the biggest change with her latest attempt at saving both Arcadia Bay _and_ Chloe: stuck with having to choose one or the other over and over again, out of desperation she had, one night, landed on an option she had never considered before, wondering whether she had been looking at the wrong variable the entire time. Because at closer inspection, if she was being honest, the only constant in all the tragic scenarios was Jefferson. In jail, or dead. 

Max had taken for granted that justice needed to be served and that the homicidal, sadistic psycho needed to get what was coming for him. If not for Chloe, if not for what he’d tried to do to Max in countless loops, then for Rachel, and Kate, and all his other victims. Hell, even for Nathan. 

But that single “What if” had taken root in her mind and had refused to leave: what if it was not Chloe that was at the center of all the tears in the time continuum Max had ripped with her own hands to save her, but Jefferson? After all, Chloe was involved in the first place because of Jefferson. Max herself was at Blackwell because of Jefferson. And from the emergence of her powers down to the last possible moment at the lighthouse where she watched the storm crawl toward the town, all her changes in the timeline ultimately led back to him. 

“Yeah I know, but I wouldn’t mind seeing a bit of blood drip down your pretty nose. It would make such a nice contrast with your eyes,” Jefferson said, not even trying to hide the low caress in his voice, the seductive tilt of his words, and Max swallowed down the rush of heat she could feel on her cheeks.

So that was her latest crazy idea, that maybe no more people would have to die and the cost would be something she could stop and think about after they all survived. All she needed to do in the meantime was to hold her breath and move forward without looking back. 

“No. We- we had an agreement. We still have an agreement, and I can’t rewind every time to clean after your messes, and—” 

“Hey, now, not even a little bit of trust in me? I’m wounded,” Jefferson put a hand over his heart, dramatic as ever. “I thought I had made it clear that I was fine with following your ever heroic plan.”

Max frowned, battling between distrust and that lethal sliver of hope that refused to let her go. Of course she did not trust him. He hadn't been there to live through all the failed attempts at convincing him. He hadn't had to live through the terror, every time she’d found herself ultimately bound to _that_ chair again, that she had finally hit a wall and changed something that wouldn't allow her to rewind anymore. 

Jefferson was her very own _memento mori_. 

“No need to butter me up, I knew the risks when I involved you. I've already lived them, that's why I cannot trust you.”

Jefferson didn't seem offended and simply smiled as he grabbed her elbow and tried to pull her closer. Tried, because Max immediately tensed and stepped back, feeling her heart somersaulting at the tightening of the hold he had on her. Max hated how even though she couldn't feel his skin through her clothes, she knew that his hands were uncharacteristically soft, the palms and fingers of someone who used them for minute, delicate work. Yet his grip was still that of a man, strong enough to comfortably manhandle dead-weight bodies, and choke thin necks. 

“C'mere, I'm not going to hurt you,” Jefferson said, feigning a patience he didn't have, except for when he knew he was going to get what he wanted. 

Max made herself relax, allowing him to pull her closer until their legs were brushing together. They were still in class, she reasoned. The entire school was just a door away, they could be interrupted at any moment. He wouldn't dare risk everything, would he? He surely wouldn’t force her to use her powers, knowing he would lose all this. 

His hand slowly dragged downward from her elbow to her wrist, and his fingers closed over her pulse point, an insistent drum mirroring the one inside her rib cage that she worried would be audible to him. And even as she kept her gaze lowered, anchored on his shirt, she could feel his eyes locked on her face, studying every little reaction like a photographer waiting for the perfect moment to stop time through his viewfinder. 

Seconds passed in heavy silence, and even though they weren't moving, Max could swear the distance between them was shrinking down. Her heartbeat was deafening in her ears, and looking down she could see her own chest rising and falling too fast. There was no way Jefferson hadn't noticed that, which only made the heat burning her cheeks all the more unbearable. 

The very air between them seemed to swell and rise in temperature, and maybe Jefferson _was_ actually still pulling her in, because soon she found herself way too close, her hoodie almost touching his suit, and his face only needed to lean slightly to— 

“Open your mouth.”

Max stopped breathing at the barely whispered command, and minutely shook her head, not daring to open her mouth to talk, lest he took it as consent before she could say no. Lest he could hear just how weak her voice would come out. 

But of course he still didn't stop and leaned forward at a torturously slow pace, letting Max feel the exact moment he was close enough to hit her lips with each exhale. She didn't dare move, not trusting her body to lean back if she allowed herself to do something. 

His other hand went around her waist and boldly sneaked under her clothes until he was directly in contact with the skin above her jeans. Goosebumps erupted under his fingers, and he took to caressing her back in small circles, both a reassurance, an encouragement, and a crass display of possession. 

“Open your mouth,” he repeated, just as sweet as before, and Max didn't want to close her eyes, didn't want to let herself go, so she swallowed the tremors that were taking over at being so close to him, and let her lips open. 

She couldn't really see his satisfied smile while they were that close, but she saw how his cheekbones pulled up and his eyes showed lines at their corners, and Max knew what the lower half of his face would look like if she pulled back. Except that she didn't and instead stood there, willing herself not to go cross-eyed as Jefferson waited another long second before brushing their lips together. 

This wasn’t even remotely their first kiss. Not in this timeline, and not in general. If anything, Max was finding out that in every loop since she'd turned to him, it was taking them less and less before their deal turned physical, for whatever reason. This time around, Jefferson had requested for her to be his model and to give him full access to “his art” as he saw fit as part of the agreement itself. And Max had accepted, because she didn’t have any other choice, and because nothing was going to be worse than the fate she was trying to destroy.

Her body had gotten gradually used to it anyway, much to her dismay. 

The moment their lips touched, Max had to focus all her energies on not submitting to the weight that was trying to pull her eyelids closed. Jefferson seemed to take it as a challenge, as he too kept his eyes open and lightly nipped at her bottom lip, pulling at it slightly with his teeth. 

A whimper almost left her mouth, but Max managed to swallow it down. She kept absolutely still, hands closed in fists that were leaving nail imprints in her palms, and fought a shiver as her traitorous skin rose under his pads as he continued to caress her back. 

Jefferson closed the distance between them again and kissed her with the tiniest amount of pressure. It was soft, and so warm, and she always forgot that his beard wasn't prickly and she could feel it tickling around her lips. He didn't pull back, choosing to keep on coaxing her mouth to move with his by taking his time, now kissing her top lip, now closing his lips on her bottom one, all done at the slowest pace, like he had all the time in the world. And Max found herself slipping here and there, sometimes an almost imperceptible twitch of her lips, sometimes a sigh she didn't manage to keep trapped in her lungs. 

It felt like an eternity, but it couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes before she was leaning forward to meet him halfway, her own mind feeling numb and distant from her. 

Jefferson's reward was letting her feel the tip of his tongue tease her mouth, to which Max responded instinctively by giving him space, waiting for it, only to feel cold air rushing in to replace the shape of his body as he suddenly leaned back, leaving her suspended right there on the precipice. 

Max blinked a few times, slowly regaining her wits, and realized that she was clutching his sleeve. She couldn't remember when that had happened, and released it like it was going to burn her hand. He still had his hands on her and her heart was still beating way too fast, but in her head it was like a switch had been flipped and the contact wasn't welcome anymore, and she stiffened again. Realizing that she had inadvertently thought of his touch like something she had wanted, anger and self-loathing promptly churned in her stomach. 

“Wish I had my camera with me,” Jefferson said, the smallest hint of awe in his voice as he studied her like every shift in her expression was worthy of a frame. “Do you now get why you should trust me? We might not see eye to eye many times, but you understand art. I would never betray my muse.”

Max barely kept herself from scoffing. "You’ve _betrayed your muse_ plenty and without issues already. How many times do you think it took me to get here?”

Jefferson shook his head. “That wasn't on me. I know myself, I would have accepted immediately if I had seen what I'm seeing now. _You_ weren't ready.”

“What do you mean?” Max asked, silently chastising herself for being curious. It shouldn’t matter, and she shouldn’t care, but she could tell herself that it was important for her to know in case she needed to repeat all this in the future. Or the past. Whatever it was. 

“I don’t think you’re entirely conscious of it, which is part of the charm, and maybe I shouldn’t even be telling you this, but you’re stuck, _Maxine_. When you’re with me you’re on a precarious balance between innocence and loss of it, right there on the edge of the cliff and it always looks like you’re about to fall but you never do, even though it’s clearly only a matter of time, and I can’t look away. I won’t need other models so long as I have this.” 

“I’m not doing anything different than the other times, I’ve offered you the same deal over and over,” Max argued, still not getting what he was referring to. The only meaningful change between one loop and the next was her own exhausted hope that she was doing something right when she managed to alter even slightly the rush to the finish line at the end of the week. 

Convincing Jefferson of her powers right at the start of the school year, and then convincing him that she could keep him from inevitably being arrested or killed so long as he stopped taking new victims, _that_ had taken more than a handful of tries. But she’d known that Jefferson had always noticed her, he never missed the chance of confessing his feelings when she was drugged and minutes away from being killed by him, so she had played it to her advantage, offering herself. That had been all, no other change. 

“You still don’t get it. You’re different this time around. You have probably been changing for a little while, but it wasn’t enough for me to notice before,” Jefferson said, and resumed brushing his fingers against the small of her back, causing a shiver to travel down her spine. “I am fairly sure you won’t have to worry anymore about me not accepting your offer, were you to repeat the cycle again. Just let me look at you, and I’ll know.” 

Max wanted for him to stop touching her so she could focus, but was reasonably scared that he wouldn’t reveal anything else if she moved. “The stakes are always the same, though. I’m still trying to save everyone even after I have seen them all die countless times. And yes, I am still hating myself for asking for your help, and I’m still trying to convince myself that it’s for the greater good. If that’s the battle between innocence and—pure nihilism, I guess, that you’re referring to, then nothing’s changed.” 

Jefferson shook his head, looking entirely too amused. “That’s not what I’m referring to, but it’s fine if you’re not seeing it yet. The important thing is that I do, and thanks to that you have my word that I’ll keep my side of the agreement until the end of the week.” 

Dread filled her lungs instead of oxygen at her next inhale, and Max closed her eyes, willing herself to stop the onslaught of panic that was suddenly threatening to take over. She’d known all that already. What Jefferson was going to do from Saturday onward was a problem she would tackle when that day finally came. She didn’t even know if he would still be alive by then, didn’t know if she would escape the storm or if she would be standing by the lighthouse once again, staring at a polaroid. Getting his cooperation until Friday night was all that she needed for the moment, and everything else was a problem for future Max. But she was doing all this to save everyone, it was the only reason she had even contemplated the idea of keeping Jefferson free, and she couldn’t help but stress over what would happen if her plan worked. 

“Will you look for new _‘models’_ after Friday?” She couldn’t help but ask, not even bothering to cover her disdain for what he dared to call art. She asked, even though the answer was painfully obvious. 

Yet Jefferson surprised her by giving a casual shrug. “Depends on a couple of things.” 

“What things?” 

“Will you still be around?” 

“Yes?” Max frowned, not understanding the question. She sure hoped she was still going to be around, her and the entire population of Arcadia Bay. That was the entire point. 

Jefferson dragged the hand under her shirt back around her waist, causing Max to gasp at the sudden feeling of his palm marking a hot trail across her skin, and slipped it out from the front. Max stared at his hand with the same unconcealed fear she would look at a syringe in its grasp. 

A breathy laugh brought her eyes back to Jefferson’s face. 

“And will you still be trying not to fall?” 

“I’ve already told you I don’t understand what you mean by that,” Max said, irritated by the ambiguous questions. It was like Jefferson was back to treating her like all the other students: ignorant, in the dark, and beneath him. She had paid with her own blood the chance of being seen as something more by him. 

Jefferson tilted his head and raised her wrist that he was still loosely holding, bringing her hand to his mouth. He touched her knuckles with his lips and closed his eyes, temporarily trapping them both in a bubble of absolute stillness. Max could feel every light exhale through his nose on the back of her hand, and unconsciously started matching his rhythm with her own breathing. 

When he glanced up to her, lips brushing her skin as he lowered her hand, he seemed to find what he was looking for on her face, because he threw his head back and gave a loud laugh.

She was seconds away from slapping him. 

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. If our resident Everyday Hero manages to save everyone’s ass by Friday, we’ll hold an official meeting to renegotiate our terms. How’s that?” 

Pulling her hand out of his hold, Max stepped back and took a deep breath now that he wasn’t as close. The air tasted fresher on her tongue, lighter as she breathed it in, and only then realized that she had been swallowing mouthfuls of his musky cologne all that time. 

The distance cleared her head like she was finally sobering up, and only then remembered that she needed to check the time. Max glanced at the door in alarm, then patted her pockets looking for her phone, only to find them empty. Turning around, she spotted it back at her seat next to her journal, and cursed herself for leaving it behind. How had she gotten so distracted she’d forgotten why she was there in the first place? 

“It’s well past the time we should have heard the gunshot,” Jefferson said, catching Max’s attention again. He tipped his head forward, barely mimicking a bow. “Told you I would keep my word. You’re welcome.” 

Max put her hands in her pockets, not wanting to let him notice how much they were shaking. Chloe hadn’t been shot, and there had been no ruckus suggesting that something else had happened in the bathroom. That meant it had worked, right? 

One test passed, an entire week to go.

“Should I thank you for doing your job?” 

Jefferson laughed again before standing up, and Max watched as his body language changed under her very eyes, from languid and lazily predatory to amicable but untouchable. He was cool Mr. Jefferson again, after being whatever monster he was when they were alone. 

“I’m going to take a coffee, don’t let me find you here when I come back. I’ll see you tonight in my studio. And Max, don't wait too long before handing your picture. John Lennon once said that _‘Life is_ —’”

“ _‘Life is what happens while you're busy making other plans.’_ So you’ve told me.”

Jefferson smiled and then walked out without bothering even half a glance in her direction. The moment his figure disappeared from her line of sight Max felt her legs start to shake and she barely managed to reach the closest chair before her knees gave out, her body falling halfway in the right direction and saving her from ending up on the floor. 

A deep breath, and Max could feel her vision blur with tears. Turning toward the window, she could have sworn she saw Chloe’s yellow truck pass by. She’d be driving back home, no childhood friend suddenly back in her life, no one to finally break the loneliness of the past months, and Max let it be. If she let it be, she’d have more chances of giving Chloe the rest of her life to find herself, and Chloe’s family the time to hold on to her until they could show her they cared in a way she’d believe them.

Max didn’t know where she’d be by then. She hadn’t thought about her life past October 11 in so long it was starting to sound fake, like the entire world actually ended there and she was simply stuck reliving the same week forever with the only change being who she chose to spend it with. And after seeing innocent people die over and over, maybe someone out there would understand why she now kept close to Jefferson. 

Even if she failed, at that point she’d rather get to watch his last moments than anyone else’s. 

But that small flicker of hope that she could stop the storm from hitting just wouldn’t die no matter what, and even if everything went to hell on Friday night like clockwork, at least this time around she had spared Chloe and Kate the nightmares that kept Max company instead. 

If anything, she had learned to appreciate the small things.

And the sky was still clear. 


End file.
